


Second Chances

by vvindyvvillovv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura, Canon compliant until Season 3B, Derek and Stiles are happy and it's WONDERFUL, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Resurrected Laura, everything after that just didn't happen ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvindyvvillovv/pseuds/vvindyvvillovv
Summary: “You’re the first in-person woman I ever saw naked from the waist up.”Her head tilts to the side and he thinks he could make a confused dog joke if the situation was anything but this. Her look is blank and her eyebrows are very prominent and Stiles is reminded that she’s a Hale and holy fucking shit he’s going to be murdered by his boyfriends once dead sister.





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Again and as always, this isn't Beta'd.
> 
> There's a section in this story about Chuck E Cheese and that was entirely inspired by my girlfriend who used to work in a place like that next to where we stay and all of the rants she used to go on before she rage quit. She still goes on about it, so I suppose ideas of passionate hate never die.
> 
> I also was originally going to go for angst with this, where it would all be sad and there would be lots of crying but I decided against that. I want my babies to be happy, in love and calling each other pet names because that makes me happy and I WANT THEM HAPPY. SUE ME.

The skies overhead are dark, gloomy and look heavy, bursting at the seams with unshed rain that Stiles is actually quite certain will unleash the second he steps outside the jeep and has to make the three minute walk down the street, away from the parking lot with the broken meter that lets you park for free and down to Derek’s apartment and absolutely drench him because wouldn’t that just be a running theme with his life?

And things had been going really well for the past year, there had been no supernatural occurrences (of a bad nature, at least), he actually had a _boyfriend_ , a _stable relationship_ , and he ran into quite a bit of money through some stupid competition so he was able to buy new parts for the Jeep and now he could actually utilise fifth gear which – absolutely amazing. So, isn’t it only natural that something has to go horrifically wrong soon?

Sure, he had graduated college with a degree that was actually contributing nothing to his life other than frequently paying off very small amounts of his student loan a month, but that’s just semantics.

Point is, Stiles’ life is _great_. It’s pretty peachy keen so it’s only right for something to ruin it. And he was right, as he jabs his finger into the button for the crossing, the clouds overhead start to grumble and the first drop of rain hits his neck and slides slowly down his back.

“Fucks sake,” he grumbles, lifting his arms and covering his hair with his hands. He knows it won’t make a difference but goddamn he’s trying. Derek would be proud, he thinks a little coyly, considering two summers previous he had gotten his hands on that self-help book _The Little Book of Hygge_ (and by got his hands on, Stiles actually means he gifted it to him as a joke, trying to give him the one book on his shelf that he wouldn’t ever read, but the fucker had gone and read it anyway, thus commencing the three month long process of Derek trying to better himself) and he was so truly passionate that he’d ramble for what felt like days about the theories and propositions that were detailed to the point that Stiles grew so sick of it he kissed him just to shut him up.

Derek didn’t read the book at all after that, he had Stiles to keep his mind, eyes and hands occupied, and he was also committing to the move from the loft after he read about how he should de-clutter his life by going through the things he owned, and if he had no emotional connection to them as he held them in his hands, he should throw them away. It was needless to say that Derek was left with very, very little after that and most of what he kept back was out of necessity or the fact that he couldn’t quite walk around Beacon Hills naked because none of his clothes served him a greater purpose.

The walk to the apartment complex is quicker than it should be, mostly because Stiles starts to sprint as the rain very quickly shifts onto torrential, large blobs of water hammering down onto the concrete and almost instantly covering any available surface with rainwater. It took an entire minute for Stiles’ clothes and hair to get completely drenched and for his mood to plummet to a low it hadn’t been at for ages.

He presses up against the apartment complex’s door, hiding from the weather under the eaves of the roof and jams his finger into the buzzer belonging to number 96. He waits for Derek to get to the intercom a little impatiently, and by second two when he hasn’t been answered, he reaches forward and presses it again, huffing when his phone trills with a text in his pocket. Its likely to be Derek, telling him to fuck off for being so childish and that he’ll make him stand out there for longer if he even thinks about pressing that goddamn button again.

But it’s not, it’s actually from Scott and Stiles flicks it up on his screen because he has the time because his boyfriend wants him to stand out in the pouring rain and just die, probably.

 **Scotty, 6:43 PM:** Dude, our apt ASAP, incredibly urgent.

Stiles’ heart thunders in his chest in unison with the rumbling from above. The urgency genuinely passes a chill down his spine, and his mind goes, thinking up all of the situations that Scott could have gotten himself into and what Supernatural creature has him by the balls this time.

 **Scotty, 6:43 PM:** not dying btw

Stiles grits his teeth together and presses an offended hand over his chest in an attempt to soothe.

“Stiles?” and Stiles loses his shit, letting out a startled yelp as Derek’s voice sounds over the intercom, “are you alright? You sound like you’re dying.” The bored way in which Derek says this really shows how much his life has improved since then and he can’t help but be a little proud.

“I have to go.”

Derek sighs impatiently, sounding crackly over the speaker, “is this because I didn’t answer immediately? I was in the bathroom – and it’s really not my fault you’re impatient!” He can just imagine Derek throwing his hands up rather defensively in a _not my problem_ kind of way and he rolls his eyes heavenward.

“Scott texted, actually, but I am so not!” The disbelieving snort on the other end is enough to make him roll his eyes again. “I’m, like, the opposite – let’s not, right now. Scott said It’s urgent, but I’ll come by after, okay? He’s probably just freaking out over something stupid and it’ll take about three minutes to fix.”

“Alright. You wet?”

“Oh, why Derek! We haven’t even started –“

“Idiot.” It sounds affectionate and Stiles can’t help but grin. “Just text me when you’re on your way back and I’ll order food.”

“Careful, Hale,” he cautions with a leer, “keep talking like that and I’ll probably start to fall in love with you.”

Derek exhales out a laugh. “And what a tragedy that would be.”

“My dad would be thrilled.”

“Alright, you. Scott’s waiting and I’m starving, so hurry back.”

The intercom goes dead and Stiles snickers, hopping down the steps one by one, shuddering as the rain starts to hit on his shoulders again. “Pizza!” he calls up at the window, eyeing Derek’s and a familiar face pressed up against the pane, “order pizza! And cookies! Lots of them!” Two floors up stares out of their window with a deep scowl and Stiles lifts his hand and waggles his fingers, taking off down the street.

/ / /

“So there was a Witch,” Scott says heavily before Stiles has even walked over the threshold of their dingy little apartment that has a little bit of a cockroach problem and has mould in most of the corners (although the one that’s above Stiles’ bed looks a little bit like Jesus if you close your right eye, tilt your head and squint quite a bit with your left) and Stiles balks.

“Witch – _dude!_ ”

“I handled it!”

“ _Dude!_ ”

“I’m sorry!”

Stiles slams the door behind him because he’s prone to drama and sits his hands on his hips, aiming for disapproving mother. As predicted, Scott cracks and groans, hanging his head pitifully.

“She didn’t want trouble. She – She came to me and asked if she could reside about three miles from Beacon Hills – not our land, by the way!” he punctuates this with a wave of his hand and Stiles looks up at the mould scattered ceiling and asks God for assistance to get him through this. “She wants peace with her family, so she came and offered – well.”

“Fucking _Hell_ , Scott! What did she offer?” Stiles kind of wants to cry and his stomach reminds him that he’s hungry and he thinks of the pizza that he’ll eat, the movie he’ll watch and the cuddles he’ll receive. Anything to push him through this rather painful conversation.

“Well. See, that’s the thing,” Scott looks bashful a pink tinge to his cheeks and he can’t meet Stiles’ eyes. “Derek’s not here, is he?”

There’s shuffling coming from the living room and Stiles narrows his eyes. “I’m starting to think it’s a bad idea that he’s not. Scott, _what is it_?”

“She – the Witch – said that she’d give me what I – sorry, what _we_ , the Pack, need.”

“Stability? An Alpha who doesn’t meet up with supernatural beings without telling the rest of the Pack? I can go on, the list is rather extensive!”

Scott frowns, starting to look rather happy. “I can’t explain it. It’s – honestly, it’s better if I just show you.”

“Scott,” Stiles murmurs, taking a half step back as he reaches out to grasp at Stiles’ shirt, “Scotty, you’re actually scaring me a bit.”

Scott stops, frowns intensely and Stiles feel just a tad guilty, but it’s overpowered by the now rapid pumping in his chest. “Stiles,” he says, voice low, honest and pure, “I would never put you in danger. You know that, right? Never. Never ever ever.”

“Fuck, I know that. I know, alright? I just –“ he breaks off and grabs at Scott’s arm, motioning with his free hand for him to lead the way. Scott smiles, resigned and rather sad and it’s like some kid has reached into Stiles' heart and grabbed at his heart with his little fists, squeezing.

“Just don’t freak out,” Scott pleads, taking cautious steps towards the door.

“You saying don’t freak out makes me wanna freak out!”

Scott braces his hand on the doorknob, turns his head over his shoulder and smiles tightly, thinly. “Please.” Stiles just nods.

Scott inches the door open, pokes his head around the crack and nods. Mere seconds pass and the door is fully open and the cat is out of the bag and Stiles can’t fucking breathe. She’s wrapped in Stiles’ dressing gown that he keeps around purely for decoration and just to appear fancy on the occasion that he does wear it, it’s silk, pastel blue and clutched tightly around her frame. Her hair is mid-length, brown, slightly matted and embedded with leaves, twigs and dirt. She looks shaken, understandably so, and there are patches of mud caked over various areas over her exposed skin. The last time Stiles had seen her, it was the upper half of her body buried in a ditch in the backyard of her burned-out house. It’s Laura Hale, Laura fucking Hale, and she’s pretty fucking alive.

She blinks up at him from the sofa, _his_ sofa, and her hands tighten around themselves. He doesn’t know what to do, it’s not exactly like there’s a handwritten manual on how to react when your boyfriend's dead sister is brought back alive by a Witch, so it’s all completely lost on him.

“It’s really her as far as I can tell,” Scott says quietly, “she remembers things.” Sorted, then, Stiles thinks a little bitterly.

“You’re –“ he starts, pausing when he realises that he can’t exactly go with his chosen _you’re Laura Hale_ because apparently, she knows that if her memories advocated by Scott are much to go by. He swallows thickly, wipes his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans and takes a small breath. “You’re the first in-person woman I ever saw naked from the waist up.”

Scott about dies, he chokes horrifically, taking a large step forward and turning to look at Stiles like he just shot his puppy. But no, this is kind of worse.

Her head tilts to the side and he thinks he could make a confused dog joke if the situation was anything but this. He doesn’t and he’ll thank himself later for it. Her look is blank and her eyebrows are very prominent and Stiles is reminded that she’s a Hale and holy fucking shit he’s going to be murdered by his boyfriends once dead sister.

Instead of murder, Laura Hale smiles and it looks like against every bone in her body a laugh is forced from her throat, raspy and it sounds like it would hurt.

“I’m – I’m Stiles,” he introduces himself like he should have before making an insensitive and actually rather abhorrent comment.

“I’m –“ she cuts herself off with a cough, raising a shaky hand to rub awkwardly at her throat.

Stiles smiles. “You’re Laura. I know.”

She makes a face like _I suppose you would_ and Stiles frowns because he’s seen that face on Derek so many times and they actually look incredibly similar.

“Shit,” Stiles huffs, “Derek. Scotty, _Derek_.”

Scott frowns like he knows because he probably does because Derek would break his heart over this, he really would. Three years he had been in this stage of his life where he had freed himself from the gut-wrenching horror, guilt and sadness and had let himself be somewhat free-spirited and goddamn _happy_. It makes his heart hurt because this isn’t something that they can keep from him, they’re going to have to introduce him to Laura and Stiles is going to have to stand there and watch Derek’s heart be split back into the many pieces that he had tried so hard to tape back together.

“You –“ Laura frowns, clear her throat and shakes her head, “my brother. You – you smell of him.” Her voice sounds horrific, but really, what can be expected of someone who had just been dead, buried underground for the past seven years?

Stiles gives a tight smile, not really sure of the status of Derek’s sexuality back when the two of them were back in New York and Laura was, y’know, alive. “I have to call him, Scott.”

“Of course,” Scott agrees immediately, nodding vigorously “I’ll – Laura,” Scott clears his throat like he’s trying to get his tongue used to the name, “come – come to the kitchen. I’ll get you something to drink and eat. You must be starving.”

Laura blinks up at Scott and Stiles gets the impression that she hasn’t spoken much to him since she was – since she was brought back from where ever the hell she actually was. He’s bombarded with questions of the afterlife that he’s suddenly dying to ask her but he pushes them down for later.

She gets shakily to her feet and Scott rushes forwards to grab at her, helping her hobble over to the kitchen. He twists at the last moment, bringing a hand up to his face and forming a phone with his fist and it doesn’t take a genius to figure that Scott wants him to break the news.

Stiles closes his eyes tightly, biting down on his tongue so he doesn’t blurt out _you’re the Alpha, you tell him!_ because he’s a good boyfriend, he just sometimes has to remind himself of that.

He drags his phone from his pocket, scrolls through his contacts and hits Derek’s name, bringing it up to his ear and listening to the dial tone. He waits for Derek to pick up, an apparent running theme in his life, and as he does, he looks through the kitchen doorway that has no door – because his apartment is a literal hell hole but it's _his_ hell hole that he shares with Scott, and now apparently he also guests Laura Hale – and frowning, wracking his brain for a good way to break the news.

There are none and everything is awful.

“Hey, baby,” and Stiles’ heart breaks, “you done with Scott? I’ll order the pizza now.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, he can’t quite pluck up the courage and he waits for Derek to speak again so he can memorise the lilt of his voice that is a little carefree and doesn’t possess the weight of three thousand suns.

“Stiles? This isn’t you doing that stupid Scream thing again, is it? It was funny the first three times, but now it’s –“

“You need to get over here.”

He couldn’t be sure if Laura was listening but he had a pretty damn good idea that she was because ever since Derek picked up the phone he head had turned so her left ear was facing Stiles. A classic werewolf move if he ever had seen one for fine tuning their ears, but it’s also a classing move of facing Scott when he’s speaking and happens to be put in the position where you need to have your left ear facing the door.

“Are you okay?” And just like that, in about a tenth of a second, Derek’s tone had transitioned so it was hard, cold and intensely panicked. “Stiles, are you hurt?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that!” he says quickly, “I’m – Der, I’m A-OK. Never been better, but.”

“But.”

“You need to get here.”

There’s a heavily loaded sigh on the other end and Stiles frowns. “I promise, I’m alright,” he reiterates and Derek sighs again.

“Alright. Okay.” His voice is muffled and Stiles can imagine how before he spoke he would have dragged a hand down his face and rested it over his mouth. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

Stiles closes his eyes and nods, reminds himself that this is a phone and he can’t be seen and says “okay.”

Derek sighs once more, “are you sure you’re okay?” and his voice is so delicate and Stiles can’t quite understand why his eyes are stinging like this. “You sound upset. Stiles, you sound _scared_.” He is, he sounds like that because he is, he really truly is and it hurts so damn much that he can’t tell him that, that Derek’s probably going to break a few traffic laws to get there quicker and it hurts so fucking goddamn much.

“I’m fine, okay?” it doesn’t even sound the slightest bit convincing to his own ears. “I’ll – Shit, fuck. I’ll tell you everything when you get here, alright? Just – get here first.”

“Okay,” Derek heaves out and Stile can hear him juggle his keys, opening his front door and closing it again. He’s moving quickly and Stiles closes his eyes. “I’ll be there soon. Sit tight, alright?”

“Will do.” He turns his back to the kitchen and lowers his voice, “love you, Der.”

“Love you too – I’ll be there soon.” And the line goes dead.

Stiles stayed rooted still for a few moments, not lowering the phone from his face and he takes several deep breaths. He can hear the microwave ping from the kitchen and he can hear Scott tell Laura that the soup may look disgusting, but it’s actually delicious and would you like buttered bread with that? He doesn’t hear Laura’s reply, it’s probably non-verbal.

“Come on, Stilinski,” Stiles utters under his breath, jerking himself back into a functioning human. He turns on the balls of his feet and stomps towards the kitchen where Laura had apparently agreed to the bread and it mixing the bowl of soup with a spoon. Stiles hopes that they were clean dishes.

When Derek arrives a little over ten minutes later, buzzing at the intercom for a few short moments, Laura has already eaten half a loaf of bread and is onto the third bowl of soup. Her voice is more stable – probably werewolf healing – and she had already looked through one of Scott’s old English Lit papers with a red pen marking it meticulously even though he had submitted it four years ago as a first-year college student and gotten a healthy B.

It’s no question that Stiles will be the one to attempt to ease Derek into this, a role he doesn’t really want to fill but he has to because Scott is, quite frankly, awful at it and they can’t exactly send Laura to the door to open it. He presses the button on the way past and by the time he closes the front door softly behind him, Derek is already there, tucking two fingers under Stiles’ chin and manoeuvring his head side to side as if looking for ay visible signs of hurt. Stiles leaves him to it, letting himself be thoroughly inspected.

“There’s – there’s a scent,” Derek says quietly, satisfied that Stiles is okay and inching forward, and pressing his lips to his forehead and Stiles still blushes like they’re just gotten together and haven’t just celebrated the back side of their first year anniversary. “I recognise it, but I can’t quite –“

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Derek pulls back, looks down at Stiles’ face and frowns. “Of course,” he says without hesitation, “of course I do, Stiles –“

“And I don’t want you to – just don’t freak out.”

“How is you telling me not to freak out supposed to prevent me from freaking out?”

Stiles grins, not quite reaching his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a good thing,” he murmurs and reaches up to run the back of his hand down his stubbled jaw, “but you’re a pessimist, so…”

Derek’s eyes roll hard and Stiles takes his hand back, using it to push open the door. “Scott’s in there in case things get –“

“You tell me not to freak out and then you say shit like that, what do you want from me?”

“I want you not to freak out. But want doesn’t always –“ the door falls closed behind Derek and his hand is reaching out, grabbing tightly at Stiles’ shoulder and tugging him close to his body. He squeaks because Derek’s a werewolf and has a heavy grip and he really doesn’t expect to be hauled backwards.

“What the fuck.”

Scott is standing at the end of the hallway, Laura standing awkwardly at his side. Stiles frowns.

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Derek points a shaky, clawed finger down the hall and Scott takes a step forward, his eyes blown wide with worry and Stiles’ frown deepens. “You’re dead. You’re _fucking_ dead! You sick fuck, impersonating a dead fucking woman – I’ll rip you apart limb from fucking limb!” And Stiles really does, honestly believe him.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Stiles coaxes, reaching up and capturing Derek’s wrist between his fingers, “no violence, alright?” Derek’s face is honest to God heartbreaking – his luminous blue eyes glassy, his nose scrunched and his lips thin, chin looking on the verge of wobbling.

“Stiles,” and he sounds like a broken man, the same broken man that had lost Erica to the Alpha’s, that had to have his clawed hands taken from Boyd’s chest, that had watched the woman he thought he loved turn into the Darach, the man that Stiles had watching Derek rebuild into a better version. “that’s not – _can’t_ be.” He’s shaking his head and doesn’t look like he can stop and his jaw clenching, teeth gritting against one another. “Can’t.”

“I think it is,” Scott pipes up from the other end of the hallway and Stiles is straight out scowling at this point. “She – she recognised your scent on Stiles. She – she can remember who won the ’08 Superbowl and what Peter did to get her here.”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupts with a wave of his hand, “the Superbowl? You asked her about the _Superbowl?_ Scott, what does that even mean?”

Scott’s cheeks flame red and he looks to the ground, “I figured that if she was made to hurt us, why would she know pointless knowledge from two-thousand and eight? She’d know all about us to make it convincing but no – no general knowledge.”

How he’d hate to admit it, but Scott was sort of right. Sort of.

“Why does that even make sense?”

Scott looks kind of happy at that and he grins widely and shrugs.

“Derek,” Laura says softly and Derek’s body lurches. Stiles keeps his fingers wrapped around his wrist, not entirely convinced that Derek wouldn’t leap across the room and rip Laura’s throat out, and he turns up to look at him, raising his brows. He gets a jittery nod in return and he loosens his grip.

Derek stumbles forward and meets Laura in the middle. The two stare at each other and in one horrifying moment, they leap, colliding and Stiles almost yells out, Scott _does_ but then Laura’s sobbing, tucking her head into the crook of Derek’s neck and Derek’s crying too, only he’s being quiet about it but Stiles can see the tremor in his shoulders. They’re mumbling to each other, rushed words that Stiles can’t hear and Scott looks everywhere else to give them the illusion of privacy.

They stay for another two hours. Laura drinks two more bowls of soup, practically inhales a ham sandwich and drinks about a litre of orange juice and another two litres of water. They stay, Derek sits glued to Stiles’ side, keeping a watchful eye on Laura like he’s scared she’s going to fade away or she’ll turn to him with a malicious grin and leer that he had been so stupid to trust her, that Laura – the real Laura – is dead. But that doesn’t happen, and Laura continues to divulge herself on over three-quarters of the food Scott and Stiles have in the fridge and cupboards combined. They let her, because Stiles can do half the fridge if he didn’t have a satisfactory breakfast and couldn’t make lunch. Laura hadn’t eaten in _years_.

She tells them that she can’t remember anything between seeing Peter in the preserve, screaming as he kills her and standing in Scott and Stiles’ apartment, naked, together and trembling, so freezing cold. That it just sort of happened, like she blinked and now she was here. She tells them that Scott filled her in for the most part, that she had actually been dead for nearing on eight years, her body severed in half. She snickers as she relays Stiles’ first sentence to her and when she does, Derek makes eye contact with him for the first time since the two siblings embraced to give him a small frown.

Stiles feels scolded, like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar, but he doesn’t really regret saying it, because Laura then goes onto mention – after she noticed Derek bristle with discomfort – that it had made her feel comfortable, more relaxed that at least there was someone in the room that wasn’t afraid to make light of her very bizarre situation.

She doesn’t mention if she heard Stiles and Derek on the phone, their call where Derek had referred to Stiles as _baby_ and where his worry was so fucking evident and where they had hung up but not before declaring their love for each other. She didn’t mention if she had heard them in the hall outside of the apartment’s front door, where Stiles had made sure that Derek knew that he loved him. She doesn’t ask why Stiles was so bold on touching an obviously wolfed out Derek and why he was quick to calm down when he did. She doesn’t ask if they’re in a relationship, but then again it’s also entirely possible that she could jump to that conclusion herself if the way Derek’s arms don’t leave their position from being wrapped tightly, securely around Stiles’ shoulders, nearly engulfing him whole with just pure need to have him extremely close.

They leave two hours later, Scott having to remind Derek tightly that, no, Stiles can’t come home with him because he has a six am shift and he has a knack for always sleeping in when he’s not in his own bed. Derek looks reluctant and hugs him extra tight as Scott takes Laura to the kitchen to pack her some thin mints and Stiles’ secret stash of Reese’s because Derek has nothing fun in his apartment that hasn’t been brought over against his will. He buries his nose into his neck and just breathes, saying nothing, just holding on for dear life and breathing.

“This shit’s bizarre, huh?” because let it not be said that Stiles isn’t incredibly comforting. Derek doesn’t reply but the breathing on Stiles’ neck get’s a little harsher for a few exhales and he counts it as a laugh.

They don’t kiss before Derek leaves, but Stiles isn’t one for kissing guys or anyone who looks so broken and fragile as Derek did.

So they leave, Stiles brushes a thumb over Derek’s cheekbone and tells him to text when he gets home and call later if he needs it. Laura gives him a squeeze, murmurs lowly in his ear _thanks for the robe_ and passes her hand down his spine.

Scott’s silent until they can no longer see Derek’s SUV on the road, turned the first right corner onto Melrose, and then, looking a little dazed, he let’s out a long sigh. “What the fuck,”

Stiles nods empathetically, “what the fuck,” he agrees solemnly.

Derek does text, a little later than Stiles would have liked and definitely not when he got home because that drive doesn’t take two hours. But he texts.

 **Derek, 11:53 PM:** contact the Witch

It’s unnerving, to say the least, and Stiles nearly drops his phone in his rush to get off his bed and strangle out Scott’s name.

Scott runs into his room very much in the same fashion, tripping over the uneven carpeting and his fingers trying to grab at the zipper of his pants to tug them up. “Look!” Stiles all but shrieks, turning his phone to Scott and running a hand through his hair, entirely filled with stress.

“Fuck.”

Stiles pulls his phone back, mind reeling with possibilities and he, with a shaky finger, jabs at the _call_ button. He wonders if Laura will pick up, snarling and foaming at the mouth and cackling about how foolish they all were. Suddenly, Scott’s proof of Laura being Laura through a Superbowl question is incredibly stupid and just for emphasis of this, he glares at him.

“Hello?”

“Derek!” Hearing his voice sound so normal, even a little confused on why Stiles would call him when he had just put effort into sending a text is both calming and confuses him to no end. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did Laura hurt you? I’ll get Scott to kick her ass, I swear to –“

“Um, I’m alright?” And he definitely sounds confused and Stiles is feeling a little bit of whiplash. “Why would – is there a reason I wouldn’t be?”

“Your text,” Stiles says and swallows a lump in his throat, “very ominous. No context, what so – Derek. Derek, are you _laughing?_ ”

“Sorry,” he apologies immediately, clearing out his throat but Stiles can still hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I promise. I just –“ he can hear Derek cover the receiver, can hear him excuse himself from the room and the pause where he stows himself in his bedroom, can hear himself climb out onto the fire escape. “Hey,” he says lowly and Stiles gives Scott a thumbs up, waving him off.

“Go finish what was obviously a pee,” he tells Scott, dragging his eyes purposefully down to his crotch, grinning when Scott snickers out his ungrateful thanks and leaves, yanking his bedroom door to a close. “What’s up?”

“I just – I need confirmation, y’know?” He imagines what Derek would be doing, sitting at the rail with his legs dangling over the edge because he’s a werewolf who has no fears, one hand holding his cell to his ear and the other probably rubbing at his face. “I – I don’t want to, uh, get comfortable. And then a year goes by and she’s a mound of dust on the ground. Or it’s not _her_. Am I making sense?”

Stiles nods, wedging his phone between his shoulder and ear so he can shimmy the window open, “yeah,” he mumbles, propping up his old college textbook to keep the window from slamming shut in the middle of the night and scaring the organs from his body (he knows this from personal experience, of course) and he also has to find a way to put the obscene amount of money that he had spent on them to good use regardless of the fact that they were second hand. “That makes sense.”

Derek makes an affirmative noise and Stiles bundles himself under his sheets, shifting for a good thirty seconds before he’s comfortable. “And you didn’t text me when you got back, by the way,” he says accusingly. “I hate when you do that.”

“Sorry,” but Derek doesn’t sound entirely apologetic, “we just – we just spoke. From the Blockbuster shell right up until I text you. It was –“ Derek takes a breath and releases it, sounding a little dreamy, “it was _nice_. To have a sister again.” Stiles thinks of Cora back in South America, doing all she can to forget that Derek had survived the fire and he smiles. He’s glad Derek has someone to be a brother too, again. Someone grateful. “I forgot how easy she is to speak to. Oh! And I told her about us, is that – is that okay? I should have asked you first but it just sort of –“

“It’s fine, Der,” Stiles admonishes with a light laugh, “I tell the new cashiers at work about you all the time. Whenever I have the chance to talk about you I take it. I honestly feel sorry for Amy. You should write her a card of condolences.”

There’s a snort on the other end that makes Stiles’ heart go warm. “I’ll get right on that.”

A few seconds of silence goes past where Stiles just full on beams into the receiver, feeling slightly goofy. He reaches over and switches off his lamp, engulfed in darkness and Derek makes a noise at the back of his throat. “I’ll let you go,” he says slowly, his voice soft and rumbly in Stiles' ear, “get some sleep. You’re up in, what, four hours?”

“Five and a half. I’ve decided not to care about my appearance at all. I’m going in with my bird's nest and Pauline and Jacob are going to have to suck it up.”

“I’ll write them condolence cards, too, then.”

“Of course,” Stiles agrees immediately, “I apologise on behalf of my dishevelled boyfriend for looking so effortlessly handsome in the mornings. Usually, he tries to make himself look less appealing on behalf of the rest of the population but alas, you put him on deliveries so he had no time. Suck a big dick. Regards, Derek Hale, former Alpha and will kick your ass on request.”

“Go to sleep,” Derek instructs and Stiles can hear the creak of metal. “Come over after your shift, too. We can lay in my bed, you can fall asleep halfway through our third re-watch of Queer Eye and I’ll pretend that you don’t smell of old, second-hand books. Deal?”

“Sounds perfect,” Stiles says honestly, “sign me up.”

“Alright, you’re penned in for noon tomorrow.”

“Brilliant.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“And Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to bed.”

Stiles can’t grin more than he already is, but he tries to anyway. “Alright! Alright. Alright. I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow and I’ll get Scott to call by the Witch in the morning and we can see about a meeting.”

“Great, that’s – yeah, that perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you.” It’s silent, Stiles pressing a hand to his cheek that’s positively burning.

“Night,” he says lowly.

“Night, book boy. Sweet dreams.” The line goes dead and Stiles lets out a sigh. Wants to punch himself for sounding so dreamy.

/ / /

They meet with the Witch the following Thursday on neutral ground. That happens to be a Chuck E Cheese that’s filled to the brim with snotty nosed children and ominous piles of puke. Stiles had thought these days were over, clutches onto Derek’s hand so he doesn’t get the urge to clean it up. Derek had been very dutiful to remind Stiles that he was no longer an employee and hadn’t been since his second year in College, so he wouldn’t be getting paid for clearing tables. Stiles had flicked his nose, told him he sucked and claimed to prefer Laura because she’s actually nice. He didn’t expect Derek’s warning to actually come in handy and Derek squeezes his hand as a silent acknowledgement that he knew exactly what he was thinking and Stiles just scowls at the children.

Scott nods over to the woman at the back of the room, crouched down to the level of a small boy, calmly explaining something to him, his tiny hands in her larger ones and those weird child liquids on his face that only children seem to excrete.

“Ah,” the Witch says, standing to her full height. The little boy toddles away into the arms of a pre-teen girl and they disappear into the masses, “Scott McCall. A pleasure to see you. This is your Pack?”

“Some of them, yeah,” Scott says easily, slipping his hand into hers and giving it a shake, seeming to forget that she had been hand-holding with a child before who must have had things on his hands that would be declared suspicious on someone of an older age. “This is Stiles, he’s my best friend.”

“The messy one you live with?” she asks and Stiles frowns. Derek tucks his smile into his shoulder and Scott and Laura just outright laugh. “Just kidding,” she says with a slight lilt to her voice but Stiles can tell that she’s not.

“This is Derek. And, well, you know Laura.”

The Witch smiles and gives a small shrug, “I suppose you could say that.” She wipes her hands down the front of her floor-length dress that’s navy in colour and rather bland, but she’s a mother so Stiles doesn’t really fault her. “I’m Aluna. Your Alpha is mighty generous.”

“We wanted to check about your –“

“We have a few things that we may have overlooked initially,” Laura says, effectively cutting Scott off and looking only a little apologetic about it. Scott just takes it in his stride, nodding at her to carry on which she does.

“Regarding your presence, yes?” Aluna asks, looking rather entertained. Laura gives a firm nod. “I think you just demonstrated it.”

“Excuse me?”

Aluna gives a patient sigh. “I told you, Scott McCall, that I was going to give you something that would help you. Aide you. Transform your pack. Laura,” she nods her head in her direction, “can do that. She had years of being an Alpha, of being a Second – she’s got experience. She knows how to converse with other Supernatural beings without offending them,” she casts her eye Scott’s way and he had the decency to look a little embarrassed, pushing a timid smile her way. “Derek was never a Second with his first pack and when he was, it was through lack of other Pack members.”

Derek quirks a brow but he doesn’t refute anything. It’s hard to when it’s true.

There’s the distant screech of a child but everyone just ignores it. “When there was an issue, Laura went alone and that takes strength. You are strong in many ways, Scott McCall, and your pack work well together, but you’ll forever feel like there’s something missing. That can be filled with Laura’s assistance.”

“And the… terms, shall we call it, of my staying here. Will it end? When I finish teaching Scott all I know, will I just disappear?”

“This is a gift,” Aluna says with a slight scoff, “and you of all people should know, Laura Hale, that you never stop learning.”

There’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes and Stiles watches her try to repress it. Derek squeezes his hand tightly and he squeezes back, reassuring.

“You’ll live and die like everyone else. Think of this as your second chance.”

“Thank you,” Laura says earnestly, “honestly. Thank you so much.”

Aluna smiles and it looks nice on her. “No, thank you. Scott McCall has given my family the best gift I could ever hope for. A chance to live without conflict and I think you and your brother will understand that more than anyone.” She picks up a baby bottle from the table, twists off the lid and takes a sip of the water. “He might not know it,” Aluna says, smiling, “but he has.” And she’s right, Scott had and probably still has no clue.

“Alright,” Laura says with a heaviness to her tone, “we’ll be going now. But thank you again, Aluna. Sincerely. And if you ever need any help,” she casts a look around at the small representation of her new pack. Looks at Derek, the little brother she had left behind when he was twenty-two, one of the two members of his family he had left to his knowledge at that point dying, leaving him to find her in pieces, leaving him alone in the world. She looks at Stiles, the boy who had gone out to find her body, gleeful with the prospect of a murder that should have made her feel sick to her stomach, but she had realised his growth quickly, the growth that had involved her brother, took him out from his slump and projected him further than she ever would have thought, the boy he used to be, so untainted by drama, the boy before Paige and Kate and the fire. Looked to Scott, the Alpha who hadn’t the slightest idea what he was doing but tried anyway with every fibre of his being, who wouldn’t stop until he had come out with the outcome he had planned for. And she smiles. “If you ever need any help, we’ll be there.”

And she would be, because this was her seconds chance and she was determined to do it right.


End file.
